Investments of the Heart
by Pianoparamour
Summary: "She could have let him catch her, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to end their game of cat and mouse. Or bat and cat. Whatever." -*multi-chapter first installment of a trilogy*-
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own any DC Comics content.**

_Author's Note: This is so exciting!_

_Welcome, readers! If you are familiar with any of my previous works ("A Combination of Coincidences," "Flash and Pain," and "Investments"), you may or may not be encouraged to note that this story takes place in the same timeline and same DCAU-Pick-and-choose-from-comics/graphic-novels Universe as do they! Specifically, while writing my Batman-centric collection of one-shots titled "Investments," I became increasingly interested in Bruce Wayne's (and the Batman's) relationship with Selina Kyle (aka, the Catwoman).This first story of a future trilogy focuses greatly on that relationship._

_I have never posted a multi-chapter work of fanfiction, and those I have written to this point are within my mountains of written/printed work, incomplete. However, this is entirely different. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE AN ENTIRE TRILLOGY TOTALLY PLANNED FROM START TO FINISH! :-D Normally I'm a "flash of a moment" kind of writer that imagines scenes/ moments and not entire plots, but this, especially this first portion…this just became!_

_I'm insanely busy, but I am dedicated to this story's completion. I'm pretty confident that I can finish at least this first work of the trilogy, but I cannot promise that such will not be a long term project (you could guess that Bruce and Selina's relationship is very complicated); I may not update frequently, but I will update. I hope you're interested and that I can get some good and consistent reviewers to keep me motivated!_

_To those of who have not read "Investments," such is not necessary to understand this piece, but please do take a look at my other titles (including "Investments") if you're interested. I really hope that you like where my imagination is taking Bruce Wayne's tale._

_To those of you coming here after reading "Investments," I hope you're excited. You'll know something of this story inevitably as, like I said, my writings are in continuity. However, you'll not know everything that's been going on in their world. One-shots can only glean an individual so much information when they are spread out over the course of a character's lifetime. ;-) Here is the first installment of a love story which may or may not proceed or end the way you have heretofore imagined, but I do hope that you're satisfied. Curiosity is a curious thing._

_I was reluctant to post any of my writing until I had much of it completed and a firm grasp on my plot (I should hate letting people down if I have to abandon the fiction), but now that I have the entire story mapped out, all that is left is to write away…and I can live with that being a work in progress for now, especially so close to the winter holiday when I *should* have considerable time to write…_

_Without any further ado, I present the (short) prologue to "Investments of the Heart"!_

* * *

The hard water pounded her aching body, soothing her tight shoulders and the muscles in her upper back. She wiped the water from her eyes and smoothed her hands over her hair, ringing it out only to let it become saturated again. Jazmine wafted in the light steam as she worked her soap into a rich lather on her arms, rinsing them and moving on to her bruised and battered torso, massaging her muscles carefully. The powerful ache felt like an old friend, honest but comforting. The shower was her respite.

"Hey!" Pounding resounded, resonating with the voice from beyond the bathroom door. Her roommate, Holly. "Hurry it up in there! I've got somewhere to be!"

The pounding continued, and Selina sighed, knowing the kind of appointments Holly regularly kept. She had to pay her part of the rent for their small apartment somehow.

"Just a second, just a second!" Selina shouted, wrapping up her shower rather more quickly than she would have liked. Wrapping a long, white towel around her torso (she had insisted upon the good towels) she opened the door old, wooden door.

Holly stood before her in a silver micro mini skirt and tight, metallic blue, scoop necked halter crop top. Her brown eyes, well rimmed in kohl, locked onto Selina's own; frustration evident, she sprung.

"Sorry, 'Lina! You know I can't be late for this one!" she called, weaving around her roommate and slamming the bathroom door behind her. Selina turned away.

There was only so much they could do to make ends meet, and their minimum wage day jobs weren't cutting it when their slumlord jacked up the already ridiculous rent on their hovel. Holly didn't have the particular skills that Selina utilized when making ends meet, so she marketed what she thought she did best.

"You'd better not use my teal shadow!" Selina yelled before disappearing into her own room and shutting the door. "You'd better not come home pregnant," she mumbled from behind its safety. The last thing she wanted was deal with that scare again. Maybe she had been pregnant, maybe not, but when her period came two months late (better late than never!), Holly had only counted her lucky stars and vowed to be more responsible. Selina had breathed a sigh of relief as well. How could they even feed a baby? How could they care for it when they were both working night and day to survive in this crap town?

And the guilt still gnawed at her in even in relief, but she couldn't change what she felt. Selina was honestly relieved, whatever the reason, that Holly had finally cycled again, and she didn't even know if her friend had been pregnant. If she had, did that make Selina an awful person?

She shook her head and leaned back against her door, holding the towel around her tightly. Those answers were best not dwelt upon. Selina had to get herself ready for the night shift.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any DC Comics content.**

Before the fighting and the drinking, before her mother had put that bullet into her brain and her father blamed Selina for still breathing, Selina had been happy. Though she still had dreams in which her father arrived home drunk and grabbed her by the arm, shaking her small body and screaming that she needed to stop looking at him with her mother's eyes, she had just as many dreams of being too short to reach the kitchen counter and her smiling mother handing her a fresh baked white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookie. It was one of those dreams that she awoke from tonight, inhaling deeply with her eyes still closed as if she could still smell their warm, brown sugar sent from this side of consciousness. She thanked the Lord for dreams—those small favors—but then sighed, because she didn't know whether or not there was anyone up there to thank for her pathetic existence. Selina shifted against her especially worn flannel sheets, rubbing her cheek against their softness, inhaling a long forgotten scent.

Cigarette smoke… Eau D'Hadrien…and a whiff of fine spirits…

Eau D'Hadrien?

"Hello, beautiful," said the deep voice. Selina, panic stricken, wrenched herself up to see Mark Grady watching her from across the small, rundown bedroom. He raised an immaculate blonde eyebrow beneath the brim of his fedora and straightened the lapels of his black silk dress shirt. His thick gold chain and zoot pants complimented his alligator skin cap toe five-eye bluchers as well as the mocking smile that shot terror into her heart and adrenaline into her veins. "You miss me, kitty cat?"

"_No!"_ her mind shrieked. _"No, no, no!"_

Selina screamed loudly and awoke with a start to an empty room in an empty apartment. She chucked a crystal vase sitting innocently on her nightstand at the wall where the figment of Grady once stood before realizing that his presence was indeed that, unreal, and quickly berating herself for a wasted night's work and the payoff she would now miss. She groaned and flopped back onto her pillow, relieved the jersey bedding no longer held that awful scent of ripe citrus, that she'd escaped the dirty walls and broken floors and rickety bed she'd once sought refuge in every night.

She threw off the dark red plush comforter and sat up slowly, checking the clock. 9:21 meant that Mabel would arrive in nine minutes, and Mabel was never late.

Groaning with the pain of last night's physical exertion (pain her adrenaline had heretofore masked), Selina hobbled over to her spotless shower and turned up the steam, reflecting as she worked a rich lather through her long blonde hair. The day ahead would be far easier than those long past, the night more precarious, but also more precious. Nights marked off her time with the Caped Crusader…that Batman that her fellow Gothamites were so enamored with or alarmed by, depending on their social status and side-of-the-law residency.

She groaned as she turned up the water temperature, gradually scalding her long legs. Selina ached powerfully, and later examination before the bathroom mirror showed her why; an enormous, deep purple bruise bloomed across her upper back. Smaller, lighter bruises were forming on her thighs and lumbar area. She was tender to the touch, particularly her collar bone, but otherwise unmarked. And that, she thought critically, is what you get for falling off the fire escape at a building's fourth story and onto a closed metal dumpster. She was lucky she hadn't been paralyzed…She could have broken the neck she now rubbed regretfully. She could have let him catch her, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to end their game of cat and mouse.

Or bat and cat. Whatever.

Mable opened the apartment door just as Selina stepped out of the bedroom wearing black slacks and a fitted gray turtle neck sweater. Selina's assistant was a quiet woman with an unassuming stature and long auburn hair. Her round, black metal glasses, knee-length pencil skirt, and loose cream coloured blouse completed her demure picture, the one for which Selina loved her. In her world comprised of Gotham Heights' aristocrats and Bowery filth, the privilege of friendship with an inconspicuous woman helped Selina retain her sanity. She had so few friends who didn't run around in green leotards or harlequin costumes, if she could those…acquaintances…as friends. Not that she blamed them entirely for their criminality. Pamela had noble (if skewed) intentions, and the Joker had Harley so brainwashed that she hardly stood mentally competent to understand her villainy. Yet, frankly, Selina was the only "anti-hero" (what a word) among them, answering to her own moral code, and she wasn't entirely certain she trusted the two on the rare occasions that she came into contact with them.

Mabel dropped her key with a clatter into a small ceramic tray on the door's side table and walked toward the kitchen counter, her arms full of brown paper grocery bags. Selina's apartment was primarily a flat, the living room graced by huge glass balcony doors open to a pristine, quartz-countered kitchen. A west hallway lead to a guest room, bathroom, and laundry room, while an east hallway lead to her luxurious master suite. Like all upper-class Gothamites, she'd forsaken true modernity for art-deco antiquation; though she was not without her advanced creature comforts, her apartment appeared old-fashioned.

"I've found the brand of tuna you wanted, Selina," began Mable as she unloaded the bags onto the counter. "Is this for you or Isis?"

"Isis," Selina muttered, picking up the tin can and examining the label. "I'm trying something new; the lactose-free cream made a nice base for my concoctions, but I need something a little hardier to feed her…"

Speak of the devil, Selina thought. As she opened the can, the black cat came running from the laundry room where was kept her litter box and perched herself on a counter stool, meowing insistently.

"Yes, baby," Selina practically purred as the emptied the can's contents onto a small, porcelain saucer. "This is for you."

Mable continued to restock the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets as Selina added fresh peas and carrots to Isis' food and placed the small dish by that which held the animal's water above an oval mat on the kitchen floor. The cat ran toward her and began to devour the fish, stopping only briefly to rub herself gratefully against Selina's leg. Selina scratched Isis behind the ears.

"You've got a meeting with Demario and Sumbawa in two hours," Mable said, finishing up with the groceries and tossing the paper bags into the trash. "Have you ever considered recycling?"

But Selina wasn't listening. Far too distracted with her thoughts of the previous night (and her dream), she remained crouched on the floor, petting Isis absentmindedly.

"Selina?" Mable tried again, moving toward her with a hand outstretched. "'Lina?"

Selina snapped around suddenly, her figure inexplicably drooping when she caught sight of her assistant. "Sorry, Mable. I wasn't listening. What were you saying?"

Mable sighed, folding her small hands before her and leaning back against the counter, her head slightly hung. "The meeting, Selina. You have a meeting in two hours with the execs down at Newsome Global, about the conservation project?"

"Ugh," Selina groaned as she rose from her crouched position, leg muscles burning. "That was today?" She ran a long, thin hand over her face blearily.

"And the charity auction…you remember?" Mabel's voice perked subconsciously, and Selina detected the change. "With Bruce Wayne?"

Selina let her head fall back against the refrigerator and sighed. "Mable…Bruce and I are just friends."

"Don't you think he'd like to be more?" she countered with a shy smile.

Selina shook her head and then rubbed her neck. "I…I just don't have time for that right now. Life is complicated enough." Her mind wandered to last night's heist: the rush of a successful burglary and the thrill of the hunt. Really, though she ran and he pursued, she felt the huntress during their brief pre-chase encounters, and she wasn't even sure why she enjoyed baiting the man—no, the legend—so much…

And she didn't know anything about his life or circumstances, but something about him…well, something about him nearly made her hair stand on end, and not entirely in a negative way. Bruce was kind and considerate, charming and intelligent, but he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth that no one could deny. He was so far removed from the squalor that dominated her life such a short time ago, so far removed from the violence that took Holly…

"I just can't, Mabel," she insisted, "Bruce isn't right for me."

The meek Mable lowered her eyes briefly before changing the subject. "Would you like me to get your garnet gown cleaned?"

"No," Selina sighed, grabbing a cup of coffee from the automatic pot, "that's alright." Mischievously, a Cheshire grin lit her face. "I think I'll wear the burgundy."


	3. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I've decided that I need to stop worrying if things sound perfect and just write. I'm caught in a loop of "I know everything that needs to happen, I just don't know how to get the characters there." It will itself unravel. :) Presenting chapter two. I love Alfred, and I don't own any DC comics content._

* * *

"I want to _sleep_…" Bruce silently fumed from beneath his plush duvet, groaning as he righted himself. He popped his neck and flexed his sore biceps as he faced the source of his sleep's disturbance. An aging butler dressed to the nines—as usual, Bruce noted, not a gray hair out of place—stood about three feet from the foot of the bed and looked at him stonily.

"Yes, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a tone he considered quite polite considering the unexpected early morning wake up call. Well, judging by the position of the shadows in his room, perhaps not early after all. But he'd been out until five o'clock that morning, Bruce reasoned internally, so he had a right to call it as it seemed.

"It is eight A.M.," the butler stated without the usage of his master's customary title, noting regretfully that Bruce sported a long bruise on his pectoral and rubbed it unconsciously. "The GA basketball rally starts in one hour." He folded his hands behind his back, and his tone—as well as his gaze—was unforgiving. "Dick is expecting you. Get out of bed."

"Ahhmmm," Bruce groaned, flopping over and burying his face in the down pillows yet again.

_Yes_, Alfred noted, _more scars on display for your old butler to see_. Some recent and others softened with time, Alfred wondered how much his old heart could take as he looked at what was once undamaged; noting Bruce's wounds, he still saw that innocent boy, his charge, who became man knowing little but pain and violence. He saw his every failure.

"That was today?" Bruce asked, unaware of the old man's plight. He turned his face slightly to the left that his voice might not be muffled. He clenched the muscles in his back as well as the pillow, knowing that the world would not just disappear but wishing that it could…just for a few more hours.

"Yes," Alfred said again, unwavering despite his sadness. "Get up."

Bruce rolled onto his back again and watched the shadows cast by the billowing drapes play across his ceiling. He had not been himself, but even awareness couldn't bring alteration to his behavior. Normally, Bruce Wayne—when they didn't interfere with the necessary protection of Gotham—cared more about being there for Dick's school functions. Normally, Bruce Wayne didn't forget his scheduled appointments. Normally, Bruce Wayne didn't need to sleep in. But the Batman didn't normally play cat and mouse with a common—abet talented—thief, so maybe there was something wrong inside his head—or, heaven forbid, his priorities—though its nature he would never admit, even to himself.

Before Bruce could do more than stir, Alfred interrupted his thoughts.

"Master Wayne," he said sternly and fervently, forsaking the use of his master's first name for a more serious command, "I will not let you neglect him any longer. Now, get out of bed."

"Neglect?" Bruce parroted, sitting up and blinking at Alfred disbelievingly.

"Yes, sir."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have kept my peace, but I'm sure you understand, even if you dare not think on it now, that Dick is, no matter how responsible, a _child_," Alfred stressed. Though Alfred had made his views known on a few previous occasions, Bruce still felt a pang of guilt at such a mention of Dick's youth.

"And as much as I disapproved of you bringing him into this mad web of nighttime vigilantism," Alfred continued, "as much as I begged you reconsider for his sake continuing in your nightly activity at all, I remained predominantly silent for all of these years as you trained the young master. I grew fond of him immediately and likened to him a sort of…a sort of grandson, if you will." Alfred's cheeks tinged pink ever so slightly and his words slowed as he broke eye contact and looked to the floor.

"I have been there when you couldn't be, and I would wish nothing less. I have…" He hesitated, clearly frustrated. "I have not been able…"

Bruce looked on, concerned and surprised, as his long time caregiver, perhaps for the first moment in his memory, appeared at a loss for words. But then the old military man was back, and Bruce again found himself looking into steel gray eyes.

"In a way," he said, "I have failed you. I've known it for quite some time.

Alfred paced back and forth. "I have tried to rectify my mistakes with the young master, and as much as it kills me to see him willingly waltzing down a path from which I tried so hard and failed so miserably to save you," here he gestured to Bruce, "—by your guidance, no less!—, though it occasionally tears my heart to pieces, as long as he was taken care of, I told myself that it didn't matter what path he was on." He halted his stride. "I would insure he was nurtured, attended to, and in every way I rightly could show him the senselessness of vengeance…" Alfred's eyes misted, but he blinked the tears away, rapidly composing himself.

"I have said more than I initially wished. Our priority is this; you are neglecting Master Dick. Though I see it as far wiser a decision, don't think that I don't notice you keeping the lad in now during nights unless his attendance on your crusade is absolutely necessary. Don't think that I don't notice you skipping evening dinners—a matter I thought we'd rectified some years ago?—to obsess over the identity of this "cat woman." Don't think I don't suspect what's happening here, Bruce." Alfred sighed. "I've kept it from Dick, but think of what is best not only for him, but for you.

"You are a father." Alfred threw a used towel lying on the foot of the bed over his shoulder. "And a lucky one at that." The old man walked toward the door, the object of his address still watching him speechlessly, now slightly open mouthed. He turned back to the man he considered his own son with his hand on the knob.

"The rally is in thirty minutes. Act like it."


End file.
